🔥STEAMY ALERT—a handful of fairly steamy moments! 🔥
♫ Someone told me that he's waiting here for me
Parisian nights, Parisian hot, Parisian breeze ♪
(Sabrina Carpenter—Paris)
THIS.SONG.IS.PERFECT
(and totally shows one of the areas described in the chapter!!)
Coralie woke to a tickling sensation below her belly button; one that unleashed her once dormant butterflies, allowing them to flutter from her head to her toes. A tingling that made her smile and giggle at its pleasantness.
She opened her eyes to a dimmed room, feeling a fluffy pillow beneath her curls and an emptiness beside her. Where was Ryan?
She yawned, viewing the satin sheets pulled up to her bra—but someone was below said sheets, hands pressed to her inner thighs, their tongue caressing between her legs.
The tickling suddenly became more real, and she recognized its rhythm, and the delirious sensations it caused.
"RyRy?"
She blinked as the licking motion stopped. A muffled mhm came from under the covers, where Ryan had been busy awakening her with his tongue.
"Delicious," he added, his grip on her thighs tightening as he tugged her a little closer to his mouth.
The butterflies exploded and a wave of pleasure coursed up and down her spine.
Oh my.
"Fuck."
She chewed on her lip and her vision adjusted, focusing on the blob under the sheets as he resumed stirring up and down between her lower lips. He'd slid her underwear aside, and she hadn't felt a thing. The idea of him sneakily slipping down there to wake her only aroused her more.
As his tongue flickered faster, she moaned and arched her back. "That is how you wake someone up."
"Mhm," he muttered, picking up the pace, making Coralie's legs shake in anticipation. With his free hand, he dragged the sheets down and revealed himself.
He was in the nude, his feet hanging off the mattress, his delightful ass immediately drawing Coralie's attention.
He paused and looked up for a second, his gaze glowing with lust as he licked his lips, enjoying the taste of her. "Is that all right?"
"Don't you dare stop," she groaned, pushing his head back between her thighs. "No better way to start the day." She leaned into the mattress, closed her eyes, and sighed as he returned to work.
Eventually, he inserted his impressively erect penis into her and further woke her, rocking the bed and her soul in one go. She covered her mouth to not scream at the incredible fullness of him inside her, and all-too-late remembered that she was in a hotel; who cared if she unleashed her desire?
Distracted by each other's nakedness and their eagerness to please, they struggled to get out of bed. When they could no longer move, spent and satisfied with stars in their eyes, Ryan called downstairs and ordered breakfast.
He stood to part the curtains, and Coralie lounged on her side, admiring the pulsating muscles in his back, the sweat glistening over his brown skin like tiny sparkles.
He drew the window open a few inches, allowing a swift breeze to sweep in. "Ah, much better."
He was godlike. The most heavenly creature she'd ever seen, if she'd ever believed in heaven. She'd been lucky enough to sleep with many good-looking guys in her past, but none came close to how exquisite Ryan was. The constant hunger in his eyes, that defined V in his lower front half, the almost painted-on six-pack, the perfect roundness of his behind—he was straight out of a magazine, like a tall and rugged rugby player with the face of an angel.
Gaping down at her own body, she cringed. What did he possibly see in her? She was a basic, not-quite-overweight but definitely not in great shape bartender from San Francisco; Gemma was much prettier and better-formed, taller and more confident and with a flatter stomach and perkier boobs.
Why would Ryan be interested in her? How had he become so enamored?
It was the video—it showed me hotter than I am, right?
Why she was coming to these conclusions now, while basking in the early Parisian sunlight and spending precious moments with this ideal man, she had no clue; but it irked her.
She tugged the covers up to her neck and batted her lashes at him as he slipped onto the bed next to her.
Instead of flashing her a playful smile, as she'd foreseen, he frowned. "Why are you covering up?" He yanked the blankets down to her waist and trailed his fingers from her shoulders to her navel, but not without twirling around her nipple, first. "Are you cold?"
"No." Her nose twitched as she rolled onto her back and crossed her arms over her breasts. She'd never felt embarrassed or vulnerable in front of Ryan before, but to look at him sprawled there, chiseled and fit and deliciously handsome, she worried she didn't compare. She always had issues with her love-handles, her thicker thighs, and with the way her boobs didn't perk up like Delilah's—or any of her other friend's. "I'm not as comfortable as I was in the dark."
She hadn't felt like this in San Francisco. The only time they'd made love in the light was in the shower, but they were both soaking wet and giggling and too distracted to dwell on details.
"You should be." He dragged himself closer to her and kissed her temples, then the tip of her nose. "Never cover yourself, Cora. All I see is magnificence, I swear. You are the representation of beauty. Curves in the right places, soft skin, and the most charming smile a man could ever ask for."
"Okay," she whispered, though not thoroughly convinced.
He picked her up and as he settled against the headboard, he placed her in his lap, straddling him.
"Listen to me." He kissed her. "You are gorgeous, got it? Whatever insecurities are playing in that sexy brain of yours, turn them off. Now. That's an order. If you want to see the Eiffel Tower—"
She squirmed, wriggling around so much she sensed his penis growing harder beneath her, which prompted her to raise her eyebrows.
"Please? I have to see it."
He moved a few hairs from her forehead and smirked. "Then stop moving and let me look at you."
She wasn't sure how long they remained like that—and how they didn't have sex again from the intensity of their gazes—but their breakfast arrived, and they wrapped themselves in plush cotton robes and ate on the sofa. They listened to the world waking outside—the honks of morning traffic, the pigeons cooing near the window, the footsteps in the corridor as other patrons got up.
After showering—separately, Ryan insisted, as they were on a schedule and didn't have time to play and fuck again—they dressed and hurried out to visit the town.
She begged him to start with the Eiffel Tower.
As they perched in the backseat of the Audi, he unlocked his cell phone and showed her the tickets he'd purchased for them to travel up to the third floor. "I knew you'd want to go there first, so I reserved our spot for—" he peeked at his silver watch, "—half an hour from now. We'll get there in time." He smiled and tugged her into a side-hug, pressing a peck to her hairline.
Coralie had always dreamed of ascending to the top of the Eiffel Tower. As a child, she'd seen it up close, but her parents hadn't allowed her to take the daunting elevators that whirled them up to the first, second, then third floors.
But this time, I'll get to do it, thanks to Ryan.
She held in a squeal when the car dropped them off in front of the magnificent monument of iron. Her breath hitched in her throat when Ryan flashed something on his phone that got them past everyone waiting in line, making them the first visitors to board one of the awaiting elevators.
The ride up should have made her nauseous—she was a tad afraid of heights—but it wowed her as she gripped the railing and watched the people below, the buildings, the cars becoming smaller and smaller.
On the second floor, they exited the elevator to catch another one that would propel them to the top. The air was colder up there, and she zipped up her jacket as Ryan rubbed her shoulders.
"Excited?"
She nodded, teeth gritting into a giant smile. "You have no idea."
She could barely walk when the final elevator's doors opened; Ryan had to nudge her out. He guided her to one side, pointing out the various areas they'd be visiting that day, and a few others he planned to show her tomorrow.
They were so high up, it was dizzying, yet she didn't pay attention to the slight queasiness in her gut.
She gawked at the golden-domed buildings and stretches of green gardens and the Seine river, unable to express how much awe filled her heart.
"It's so..." she squeezed his hand as she visualized the spot he'd gestured to, saying it was the Champs-Élysées, "phenomenal. How do the French not want to come up here every day and lose their breaths looking at this view?"
Ryan laughed. "Because they're aware of how beautiful their town is, and they have to deal with rush-hour traffic."
She sensed him peering at her, and she ripped from the visions below to catch him grinning. "What?"
His eyes creased and a careful flush crept up his cheeks. "You're so perfect, Cora. To see you so happy makes me happy." He stole a quick kiss from her before parading her to the other side and motioning at a few more landmarks.
It took much time, but Ryan finally convinced her to get down to the ground so they could hop into the Metro and scurry over to Montmartre for some lunch.
He steered her away from the Eiffel Tower, traipsing by merchants and tourists.
"I also assumed you'd want to experience the real Parisian lifestyle and not travel all around town in a fancy car."
"You're right." They walked down the fountain-lined paths leading to the Trocadéro. Coralie kept turning every few minutes to gauge the tower in all its splendor, snapping pictures of all its angles with her phone. "I have to get on that Metro."
They hopped down the dingy stairs to the Parisian underground train system, passing hurried executives and women holding newspapers and Starbucks coffee cups.
Ryan directed her through the maze of tunnels that would bring them to their station.
The Metro wasn't what she'd expected. It was dirtier than London's Tube, busier than any other public transportation she'd ever taken. And yet it exhilarated her all the same—the jumbling back and forth and scrambling to grab on to the metallic poles to not lose balance caught her off guard, and she couldn't stop laughing.
Montmartre was a quarter she hadn't visited with her parents, so when they popped up at the bottom of the steep, never-ending stairs climbing to the Sacré Coeur Basilica, Ryan took her hand and hauled her into his embrace, off to the side, near a verdant park loaded with trees.
"We can take the Funicular," he pointed at a station where two independently operating cars ascended up to the Basilica, "or we can take the stairs. Up to you."
Though exhausted from the running to switch Metros and the excitement rushing through her veins, Coralie chose the arduous steps—again, for the full Parisian experience. Her legs screamed at her choice, but she didn't regret the postcard views and the wondrous white Basilica getting closer and closer as she craned her neck to stare up at it.
After posing for pictures and admiring Paris from another angle, Ryan led her to a quaint café a few streets down. They sat at a copper and brass table under a red awning, gazing at each other lovingly while catching their breath from all the walking.
"Deux croque-madames, s'il vous plaît," Ryan said, when a server appeared to take their order. "Et deux verres de votre meilleur rouge."
Coralie bit her tongue as it lolled out of her mouth in absolute admiration of his pristine accent. "For all I know you ordered us frog legs and a pitcher of PBR."
Falsely affronted, Ryan smacked a hand to his chest. "Never. But... what in the world is PBR?"
"Probably best that you don't know that." Installing a napkin in her lap, and eyeing the two glasses of a rich red wine the server deposited on their table, Coralie flicked her wrist. "Pabst Blue Ribbon is the worst American beer there is."
She suddenly heard Jayden's voice in her head, yelling at her for criticizing. Complaining about her choice of outfit—an unzipped black leather jacket, with a low-cut blouse and tight jeans that showed off her butt more than he would have liked. And implying that she was trying to flirt with the server when she thanked him.
She scoffed; he wasn't there and never would be again. Ryan was, and he didn't care about her beer tastes, or that she'd dressed up for him, and likely thought her broken French to the server was adorable and polite.
He wouldn't criticize her.
"Thank you, by the way," she said, as they clinked their glasses and took their first sips. The wine was full-bodied, thick, a perfect mix between sweet and bitter. "For all of this. For showing me what it's like to be... taken care of."
Jayden hadn't treated her well, and everyone had warned her about his selfish behavior. In the years after her near-rape, she'd convinced herself she didn't deserve someone good, that she'd brought the trauma on herself for partying too much.
It took years for her true friends to remind her she hadn't asked to be raped, and that she could and would move past this. And she had... by choosing to date Jayden; a man who didn't respect her, didn't accept her past, and kept her all to himself.
"Oh, I'm not done showing you yet," said Ryan, winking at her as he swallowed a few more drops of the lush red beverage.
And he meant it. When they returned to the hotel, he drew them a bubble bath and removed her clothes slowly, letting the fabric slither down her skin, smooth like a dove's feathers. He kissed every inch of her body and scooped her up, lowering her into the steamy, bubbly water, then dropped in beside her, pulling her into his lap, her back pressed to his torso.
Nothing happened—no wandering fingers, no rubbing, no sex. They lay there in tranquility, with no urges or desires or passionate attempts to make love. They indulged in each other's presence, listening to the relaxing tunes he'd set up on his iPhone, nuzzling and playing with bubbles and chatting about their day.
Once in bed, they did make love, but slowly, softly, with a gentle passion that she hadn't expected from Ryan, after all their near-violent fucking from the past few weeks. He was tender, his kisses satiating and sweet, his movements hard yet causing a new type of fluttering in Coralie's belly.
To see that more docile side of him only deepened her feelings for him.
They slept soundly in eachother's arms. And though usually, Coralie found ways to sneak out of someone'sembrace while sleeping, she didn't escape Ryan. Not only because he didn't lether go, but because deep down, she didn't want him to.
♥♥♥